The Awakened: Into This Furnace, I Ask You Now
by Felicia Angel
Summary: Dark AU for "Sherlock Holmes: The Awakened" game: Watson's capture of Moran has consequences he didn't forsee, and now he is stuck in a place of madness. Lovecraft-Holmes crossover, now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Into this Furnace, I Ask You Now

Author: Felicia Angel

Rating: M/R

Characters: Watson

Summary: Part One of my retelling for "The Awakened", this part being a retelling of "The Empty House". When Watson and Lestrade find and capture Moran, they did not expect such a violent backlash. Now on the continent at Black Edelweiss, Watson thinks on what he must do to expose the staff, as well as figure out his role in this affair.

Note: Guess the song and artist the title comes from!

I have been called many things. I was quite fine with knowing I could never be a convincing liar, even more so with the idea that I was stubborn. I often didn't get worst, though a few have called me some and once, Holmes overheard it and I was high-pressed to keep him from hurting the man.

But I have never been called mad before, and despite many attempts to defend myself, I've never been found guilty of it either. Yet somehow, I was claimed to be mad, that the whole of the situation which I used to capture Moran, a wanted killer and the last of Moriarty's men, was all insanity and, with little ceremony or chance to finish up my affairs, I was bundled up and sent away.

I woke groggy, from the chloroform as well as what I had to guess was something else, and with the vague knowledge that I had somehow been had, that I was far away from any help that I might get to, and, after a few screams, I also realized I was in a mental institute.

I sat up slowly, looking at the new uniform with rings and patches that would hold my arms if I got violent, pondering where I was and why I was here. I vaguely recalled a trip on a train, and familiar ground, but beyond that I could not quite recall. On top of that, I was shaky and had to guess that it was a residual effect from the drug. That I could be thinking this was a testament to how long I had been out, for I had to guess that the drug was quite powerful.

I looked up as I sensed more then saw someone near my door, facing a man with blond hair and dark blue eyes, his suit showing him to be the head physician of this establishment and probably in charge of my well-being…or what could be considered that in such a place.

"I see you're finally awake," his voice rolled over like that of a spider to a fly, "How were your dreams?"

"I had none," I stated, annoyed at my unsteady and crackling voice, as well as my shaking hands and body.

"A pity," the doctor outside the door said, "Do you know why you're here?"

I looked up at him with a small glare in my eyes. "Someone said I was mad. A grouping of people agreed, and I was taken away."

"I see you have a general understanding, at least. This is the Black Edelweiss, in Switzerland. You, being from England and with the great care of the dear Colonel Sebastian Moran, who was sympathetic to our cause, have been brought here to deal with your true purpose."

I frowned, confused as the man said, "I have learned from…a colleague, that dreams are quite important, and he dreamed that you would be instrumental in our downfall. Thus, you are here, away from prying eyes. With your friend gone, and you here, there is little to remain but to continue with our plans."

"I don't even know of your plans, save that you are with Moran and he felt I should be taken away, even if he's now in jail."

"So I've heard," the man said, "a pity, that, he could've helped us a little more, but no matter. He was foolish enough to get caught, but that I have you…it shall help. Now then, Watson, it is important you realize that you are here and will be treated as any of my guests. I've been asked not to…well…ensure you do not fight us when the time is right, but I have also been asked to find out when you begin to dream. As you've had none, you are not of use to me today."

I frowned, pushing myself up to stand as he left, saying as he did, "I am Doctor Gygax, and trust me…if I run out of time and you are not what was needed, then I shall see what can be gained from your own knowledge."

I was left alone, Gygax muttering to the man in the cell next to me before heading off, leaving me to wonder at his words. Dreams?


	2. Chapter 2

This institute is not what it should be. I suppose at one time, it was once the type of place which helped people, and talking to my neighbor Becker showed that I had another ally in the sense that he was here and supposedly insane, but I could tell the signs of an addiction that someone simply wouldn't treat. His medicine, which appeared to be pink crystals-like items that dissolved in water, was his only way to escape the pain and as a result he was now addicted to that instead of what he was originally addicted to, though why they kept him when anyone else could've spoken about it is beyond me. I asked, and he stated he had been in such a state that the one who brought him in and was responsible for him signed him away, and while he had visited a few times, he no longer did and Becker was quite worried.

I had no visitors, and while I was housed down below with some of the less sane, or at least the more troublesome group, I was allowed to go upstairs and view the small garden, whose most prominent feature was a large bird cage full of birds. I took the chances I could to either help feed the birds or watch them, feeling that they were very much like the people within the walls, and frowning when I began to think. All the birds there could mimic human speech, and no other variants were brought in, despite a few requests. One girl, a young woman who could easy turn angry but also was quite childlike and who's name was Gerda, said that she and Heidi, her doll, loved the birds but the 'bad men' always threatened to take them away if she was bad. I had quickly learned 'bad men' usually meant all of the staff, especially those under Doctor Gygax, and like the rest of the patients spent a good portion of my free time thinking of what was beyond the walls. The rest altered their thinking to what mischief could be done to disrupt the staff, or to what they could do to actually escape. I had seen one man, Maruizio, be sent to his cell and denied the privilege of sunlight for a while, and our numbers dwindled largely due to slights against the staff and enforced confinement.

My own for what I perceived as a month was rather simple: if I had no dreams, I would be left alone and, to keep my mind in order, investigated what I could. There was few reasons for me to sit still, and the loss of Gerda due her cutting off the head of an orderly late one night (I was more concerned, when I did see her, about her final well-being as opposed to the orderly's demise) made me a little sad about the whole business.

I ate little of the food they gave me, mostly due to not wanting any of the disgusting things, as well as feeling mildly ill afterwards.

I had yet to think of what my dreams and Moran had in common, or why the old shikari would want me to be in Switzerland for, other then perhaps remind me of where I had lost Holmes. This place was near enough the Falls that I, unlike some of the others, felt more morose about my surroundings then they did, and as we were denied most sunlight and our knowledge of time differed at moments, I still hated looking out to those mountains and recalling what had happened.

But I did, and all too vividly. Moran had simply yelled he should've killed me at the Falls, and I had become a little obsessed with finding out what he meant and if he, too, had seen the event of that day. Lestrade had told me it was unhealthy to follow up on it, but I had tried and somehow got here, and Gygax only gave me the hint of dreams.

I retired to my cell, frowning as I heard something down the nearby stairway, which was aptly named 'Gateway to Hell'. It took two men to go down to that dark and evil place, and I had only seen a few people go down there, most of them foreigners, but never heard from them again until today.

I knew at least one of the dialects, frowning and thinking of yelling down but deciding against it, instead speaking to my neighbor after the orderly left the area. "Becker, what's going on?"

"I dunno," he muttered, obviously confused as well. "Have you any idea what's being said?"

"One of them is familiar to me," I said, frowning as I listened, "but it's confusing, what I do hear. He's asking what's wrong with someone, why they aren't speaking, what the…the white devil did to him."

"Gygax?"

"I can think of no other." We were stopped as there was the sound of footsteps, and out of the area came Gygax, his suit tarnished with dark stains that I knew was of blood. He looked to me and frowned. "No dreams yet?"

I remained silent, and he sighed. "A pity. I give you one more week, Watson. Dream, or I shall find you…dispensable, and I need those for my research."

I had to sit, for while the others here might be uncertain as to what could be looked in, I did, and it frightened me greatly. I had to blame it on the drugs, or at least tried, but the thought of the many things that could be 'studied' on any individual!

"Watson?" Becker's voice was full of worry as I swallowed.

"I…I'm fine, Becker. I will be, anyway."

"But…but what did he mean?"

I did not wish to scare the man, so I stood and simply said, "Before this, I was a doctor. He simply wants to find out what I know. It might not be pleasant, and afterwards I might…leave."

Becker was silent for a long moment before he said, "You are a terrible liar."

"I know, but it might be that."

I could hear the shake in his voice as his need for the 'medicine' grew. "Tell me what else."

I listened as a voice in a dialect I knew was raised, then silenced before saying, "The people who go down there…they all talk differently, but they all feel like they must be together and leave. One is worried, because Gygax did something to him…something that made him sit and wait, a…a 'dog' to Gygax and the others."

Becker didn't ask me anymore that night, but his voice was the one which woke me from my first dream in that nightmarish place.


	3. Chapter 3

_I was at my home in Kensington when an old man, a bookseller with Holmes' eyes and some of his speech came up, asking me if I wished to buy anything. All the titles were my own, the stories of Holmes before his death, and one odd one that had symbols which seemed to move, an ancient tome that I didn't wish to touch or be touching my own books. He pointed at my case, and I turned to close it, the reflection shifting just out of the corner of my eye, but it was not anything human, instead something like a horror of an octopus…_

_I turned and was in Camden House with Lestrade, waiting. I had snuck into Baker Street, intent on seeing what Holmes had on such things that could help me with the Adair murder, and having found everything intact, as well as seeing a rather shady character outside who seemed to be eaten by shadows behind him. There, I found the name Moran, figured out the link, and took it to Lestrade, fearing for my life and angry. Holmes had been told everyone _but _Moriarty had been caught! To learn one other had remained alive, and had killed the man in such a way, it made me angry. I had gotten Lestrade, and in a quick idea we set up our trap. I was to be seen, going into Baker Street, and Holmes' shadow appeared next to my own in the window, a very good likeness. I looked out at Moran, and saw Holmes looking at me from near the window, smiling at me. "It's marvelous, isn't it Watson?"_

"_Holmes!" I yelled in my dreams, trying to keep him away from the window and Moran, who continued to ready his air-gun to take the shot that later proved his guilt._

"_Really, Watson, I am quite proud of you." Moran took the shot, and a corresponding hole appeared in Holmes' forehead as I and Lestrade rushed forward to grab the old shikari, who suddenly turned into a lion of fire and darkness as he fought us. I slammed against one side as the police came in to capture him…_

_I was running at the Falls, only now I reached the edge as I see another person heading down, this one a man much older, his eyes angry and locked on a point above me. I turned and instead I was at a city, a huge city that must have been under water, for it was corroded from salt and dripping still with water, but that also had angles which changed, which made my head hurt when I looked at them too long. Above me, two dark, huge wings opened up from a mountain, and it stood—_

_Gerda screamed out and cried for Heidi. Others with an American accent from somewhere in the South muttered out something then another one, drenched in blood and gore with the torso of a human behind him, decapitated and with cuts into it as if it was really a side of meat and not once a person, behind it and the insane colored-man was a tree made of human remains and next to him and this horror a tattooed Indian man, his beard white and his eyes clear with age and cataracts, demanding I bow to them. I couldn't make sense of it and suddenly heard Holmes' voice, chasing it all away by sheer force alone but leaving me in darkness._

"_Holmes, help me!"_

_I was back on the Thames docks, then underneath it, seeing a man struggling against bonds as someone raised a dagger, a strange small cage full of snakes writhed in the other side, above him the huge monster that seemed to follow me. I heard Holmes and turned._

"_Be strong and ready, Watson," his voice echoed around me, and I was back on Baker Street, sitting in my chair as it began to wrap around me, and I could see his outline near the mantle._

"_Holmes, please!" I yelled, hoping for his notice, and then everything started changing and I realized I was waking. "No! Don't leave me again!"_

_He smiled as everything started to fade, "I shall be there as soon as possible, my dear Watson…but try to keep your sanity, and never let them put your head on the ground."_

I woke with a start, realizing I was being strapped down and lashed out, trying to get back to where I could speak to Holmes, to where I could finally see him again, to where I'd be in the same place. I had not dreamt of him in so long, I had not seen him even in the arms of Morpheus, and now I could not allow him to leave me again.

I screamed his name again and again, struggling as I was held down, seeing Gygax looking annoyed at me and my struggles as well as what I had said, perhaps as far as dreams went.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of commotion, enough to wake me up fully as a man, one I had only seen from a distance before, one who's eyes and fall haunted me and woke me, rushed into the room, screaming and attacking any he could before he saw me, strapped down and shaking. He stopped, his arms falling, and his eyes turned from angry, snake-like and dangerous, to clear of anything like thought, clear of emotion and being.

_Amnesia, _I realized as he approached me, though my body was still tense and I shook with fear, _he has amnesia._

"Do you know this man?" Gygax asked.

I couldn't speak, frightened that my voice would wake his mind again, would wake that now-dormant evil and he would do me harm.

"Kuntz, take him back to his cell! How did he get out anyway…No, don't bother with that, the teacher Herzog has already taken a liking to him, I don't need _more _words with the idiot!"

My fear and confusion rose as Moriarty was lead away, the shell of his former self and not even looking back at me, for which I was grateful. That was the man Holmes had face, the man supposed to be dead at the bottom of Reichenbarch Falls! How did he get here? Did Moran know and wish simply to take over the now-destroyed group, or forget him forever?

Why was he alive when Holmes was dead?

I felt a hard injection and cried out, though within seconds I was lying down, drugged but in such a state that it was like I could understand, to a degree, what was going on, but I couldn't act upon it like I would rationally. I was already a person that Holmes once described as far too noble to be able to lie outright, and while I had proved him wrong once, I could never lie and found myself forever stumbling for reasons when we were caught. I had, once, been able to think up something quickly, but the fact that I had been basically attacked by two young girls and used as a pack-horse for one of them while the other saw fit to twirl me until I was dizzy might have helped a little.

"What did you see in your dream?" Gygax asked, and before I could attempt to lie, my voice spoke, reciting my dream item for item, and though I tried harder and harder to keep some part, it slid out of my hands like water and into Gygax's waiting ears.

All but the last part, all but Holmes' reassurances and advice…that was one part I would not let go of, not allow Gygax to hear no matter what he put in me, nor what horrors he unleashed upon me.

He waited, his arms crossed, as I finished, my whole being heavy and I holding onto the hope that I would be taken back to my cell, or allowed outside, _something_ other then remained in this place and held on this table.

When another orderly returned, Gygax waved. "I will deal with him later. Take him back to his cell. I shall speak with someone about this later."


	4. Chapter 4

I was unable to sleep, the drug keeping me stuck between dreams and reality. I shall not recount the horrors I perceived I saw on the way back to my own cell, or the weak struggles I put up to escape both it and the men holding me. I must have felt mad at that point, or been so for a little while, considering the dream and the resulting hallucinations. How else could I rationalize what I saw, the horror of suddenly knowing everyone's ailment and that they were not being treated, that Gygax was abusing his power so by hurting the various people here? How could I describe what I saw happen, so vividly, to a man who appeared, in any case, to be dumb when I saw the scars along his head and heard his screams and begging for mercy?

A stray thought occurred to me that perhaps Moriarty had also been part of these experiments, that Moran had turned his old master over to be so brought down, but that he could recognize the name of Holmes spoke that some of his memory was there, enough to know anger for Holmes, and if the teacher enjoyed his presence then perhaps the great equations were there too.

I found I had no strength, both mentally and physically, when they dropped me in my room, gave Becker his medicine and left. Becker said my name a few times, stopping during the rounds, but I couldn't speak to him, attempting to remind myself of what sanity felt like, what was true and what wasn't.

_But Gygax is doing these things to them, is seeing how to harm a person's mind and turn them—_a man spoke a verse, and received a bon bon for his trouble. Scars, like a map, made up his head and I could see inside to—

_Holmes was dead, yet Moriarty was alive, but—_Holmes ran through the night, the sound of an airgun going off near him as he dodged. I saw him clearly, with the abrasions of climbing and falling, and suddenly he turned and frowned at me as he hid behind a tree.

I heard myself muttering, sobs that sounded like pleas for the images and knowledge to stop, that it was too much, that I couldn't take such knowledge and stay sane, as Holmes had told me to.

"_If I am to be forced to have a doctor, at least let me have someone in whom I have some __**confidence!**__"_ I flinched at the words before the next lines came up, "_Good heavens, I've completely forgotten him!"_

I knew where that was taking me, and I attempted to counter it, but was sorely outmatched. All his slights piled against me, all his scorn at my inability to see what he did, _you see, but do not observe_, and my failures to help him or be of any use threatened to crumple down upon me.

"_And yet, my dear Watson, you continually put me on a pedestal when you should be there as well."_

I faltered, the tide that had been pulling me out to a sea that I couldn't escape from waning, retreating upon the sudden intrusion. Holmes had never said that to me.

"_Of course not, dear chap, I didn't think I _had _to, and for that I am quite sorry."_

I was going mad.

"_If your insecurity is a sea, and it is held back by one illusion that your mind can so easily conjure up in the face of such a thing, then they are not really that much of something, now are they? More like a puddle you've slipped into on accident and ruined your suit over."_

"Holmes," I whispered, more like a prayers, "please."

"_It is simplicity in itself, Watson. You know my methods, perhaps even better then I do, for you have forced me to realize how my mind works and what makes it not work as well as it could. It is true that you do not always connect everything as I can, but you do not always see how I see. You do see and observe, but lack the knowledge to make them bricks, and thus create a wall for the case. You must think, even with the visions."_

I swallowed, attempting to think. Gygax knew Moran, yet didn't know Moriarty or he wouldn't be here and still in that state. Moran had been a loyal member to Moriarty, a foil for my worth to Holmes, yet he didn't live up to it and instead went to kill someone who threatened to expose him as a cheat.

Moran had been at the Falls, but unlike me knew the true outcome. Yet he didn't kill Holmes or attempt to save Moriarty, instead firing shots to attempt some revenge upon Holmes…

"_No, that's not right."_

I backtracked to what I knew of Moran. He had lived in India, and was an old shikari. He had somehow had to leave before a scandal broke there, and joined Moriarty's group. Yet he didn't help Moriarty in a time of great need, nor did he, a good marksman, find a way to take down Holmes. He did not even taunt me when it became clear I didn't know that Holmes was alive, as if he was and in hiding, my disappearance would undoubtedly bring him back to England by any means necessary. Yet when he was caught, his revenge was to make me seem mad and send me to Switzerland, near where I believed both Moriarty and Holmes lay, to study my dreams?

"_Something is missing."_

Moran was in India, and I knew from my time there that there were some unusual cults at times. One, in Karachi, had been practicing human sacrifices and spoke of a great Leviathan they wished to resurrect. I had left a few days after the huge arrest…

"_There, Watson, what do you see?"_

They had been well-funded. Moran had left India shortly after their trial, and there were no other open scandals at the time. It was too much of a coincidence.

Moran had helped fund the men who practiced sadistic acts upon their fellow men and wished them all destroyed. Some part of him must have decided that it would be better to trap me and send me here, to insanity and ruin, then to simply torment me and have Holmes return—

"_What do you _see_, Watson?"_

Moran escaped notice. We had someone tell us of a plan to kill someone, a story that lead to my first introduction to Moriarty but I didn't always recall, as it ended badly for one side. But at the same time, there had been a warning from someone who knew, and we never did discover who that was.

Moran didn't save or bother with his master, and chased away Holmes with the knowledge that he could be killed or bring about another's death if he returned to England, or appeared to return.

When I caged him, he set up a plan to ensure my own des—no, no…wait. Moran's group…

Moran was sent out to find a person that might have the money or power for a large-scale operation. He found Moriarty, and became his right-hand man. _The Second most dangerous man in London_, Holmes had written, with Moriarty the first.

Moriarty hadn't helped him how Moran wanted, and he realized the danger that Holmes was to his and his group's plan. He ensures both Moriarty and Holmes are out of the way, which only leaves me. He watches me, but doesn't realize my plan to capture him until it's too late.

Then maybe the plan to put me here was already underway, but couldn't be dealt with due to something else?

My capture of Moran had only caused a speeding up of his own net around me, but also of the sloppy nature. The court and everything had happened too quickly, and while I couldn't be sure about what was going on in England, I had to guess that Lestrade and the others were attempting to find my whereabouts.

But then, why dreams? I attempted to recall Gygax's manner when he forced my confession on the dream I had, and remembered that he always started or looked more intrigued when I mentioned the raised island, the horrid monster that followed me in the back of my mind, or the talk about the shadows that ate at people. It was not the look of a fanatic, but the look others got when Holmes showed them the way to a reason, or his own deductions.

Moran wanted me to dream of this horror, but why? Gygax had said it was due to another dream, so perhaps they believed I could dream of the upcoming events? But then why did I dream of the past?

"I'm alright, Becker," I managed to mutter loud enough, "I reacted badly to their drug is all."

"I'm glad it was just that," Becker returned, "but you sounded…well…"

"I'm quite sane, but sometimes drugs can make you see things you wish you couldn't."

I had treated a patient who's family was quite scared of his habits. He Dreamed, and told me of these, but hated the waking world so much that he wished to remain dreaming, and thus had taken to opium and some other drugs. I had asked about his dreams, and after learning of them and the world had inquired what about this one he hated so when in the other one all he did was remain in one place and never leave? This and some prescriptions, as well as later visits, had helped him, and he thanked me for the advice, as it appeared he had taken to adventuring in the dreamlands as well and found it most exciting. They were quite fantastic, but he also had stated that he remembered meeting someone like me there. I had not inquired more, and only now was thinking of it. If a person could find a whole other world, only obtained through dreams, then would others believe that enlightenment could come through dreams as well? If so, why was only I the one asked…

I was jumping to conclusions, though. I didn't know if I was the only one, only that perhaps Moran knew this group from India. I needed to know more.

Despite the illness that those drugs, and what had to be drugs in the food, gave me, I was able to go outside again to talk to others. Few had dreams as well and were questioned on them, but none were given the same attention I was. Becker stated he had taken to drugs because of a nightmare, but that it had disappeared years ago.

My own dreams were irregular and vivid, and always left me feeling drained, with or without Gygax's usage of drugs. What I saw made me very much aware that all I saw was the past, and as well it also made me aware I was viewing a _specific _past, one which frightened me to no end. Within the middle of the dream was always the same flash of characters, and at the end I was always seated at Baker Street, Holmes telling me the same thing though his body became more then an outline and instead transformed into him, only older and with a smile on his face, though his eyes were worried.

There was no habit or routine for me to cling to either. I could only take someone's word when they said that I'd been there a month, and most that I spoke to agreed that they also were not always sure of their time spent in this place. Some of the older patients said that it was only when Gygax arrived they lost such time as to be unsure if it was a month or a year, and I found myself only caring if I dreamed, for it was there that I saw and heard Holmes as clearly as if he was near me.

I saw Moriarty twice more, both times he looked at me and walked up a little, but not enough to cause me a lot of fear, before continuing on. He took part in the classes they sometimes had, but which I and a few others that Gygax 'was taking care of' were not allowed in, perhaps because most of us were articulate, though at least one I had to guess would end up getting lower grades instead of higher and that would raise suspicion. I had seen the teacher get into a fight with Gygax twice, but it always ended badly for the teacher and his classroom size.

It was well into the second month that the dreams stopped for a week, along with my appetite, or perhaps because. I refused anything but water, and was dreadfully sick due to it. Gygax had left on business at a nearby bank, and the stream of foreigners was still steady. They apparently had no written orders on what they were to do with me besides ensure I caused no trouble, ate my food, and if I had dreams to report the frequency.

I had, a week before, determined that they were indeed putting in something into the food and learned from another fellow 'dreamer' that it was blue crystals, much like Becker's pink ones. Becker's, however, was a type of cure-all for the addiction, though it replaced the drug rather then cure him, while the blue ones were different, seeming to be the basis for the injection that Gygax was giving me and perhaps the reason for my own odd dreams.

My plan decided, I stopped eating, refusing anything besides water and getting some extra from the fountain when I was allowed outside. It weakened me considerably, I knew, and would make it hard when Gygax came back and realized what I had done, but I felt it was worth it.

I did not count on the withdrawal, which left me in pain from both my shoulder and leg, but also caused me to lose a little more sleep then I suspected. I had to admit that perhaps it was the pain of withdrawal more then hunger that kept at me, but I didn't care. I had to stay my course, and hope that perhaps Gygax would be gone longer, or that I wouldn't have to deal with him until two weeks was up.

The week seemed much longer, as due to not eating I was confined to my cell and the lights, sadly, were always on. I realized sleep-depravation when I saw it and once more steeled myself against it, instead going over the cases that Holmes and I had been on, or that he'd told me of. Becker asked for a few stories and I gave them to him, leaving out names as I did not wish for Moriarty to hear and become enraged as he had on my first encounter with him. Few things, I learned, could set off his anger or show off his mind, and I once more wondered if Moran knew of Moriarty's survival and his current state. If he did survive the fall but the physical and mental ailments had caused such a change, I would hazard a guess that he never recover, or if he did, he'd recover slowly. Did Moran realize this, or did he simply drop all thoughts, believing he was dead as I believed Holmes was?

The dreams, the appearance of Holmes within my mind, all would have caused me to believe I was mad had I been in London. Here, though, I was not quite sure. The drugged crystals distorted things so much so that I could only guess it was my mind realizing something that should or shouldn't be, or perhaps was simply reaching for a way to stay sane, and picked Holmes as the beacon and as it's voice.

I leaned my head against the cold stone of my cell and closed my eyes, thinking. Holmes, if he were alive, would tear apart the world to find me. If he wasn't, then Mycroft Holmes might, if only to ensure that his brother's friend was cared for. I had no idea if either Holmes' influence spread to Switzerland, and could only hope it might, so that I would be saved at one point. In the meantime, I had to remind myself that others were looking for me, and that I would be found and helped. Gygax's experiments couldn't last forever.

I started awake, I'm not sure how long later, and fell back as I saw Gygax and his two orderlies come in, the doctor's face a mask of anger and resentment.

"Come along. We'll have that old man settle this, once and for all."


	5. Chapter 5

I was far too weak from the fast as well as the withdrawal to fight back, instead stumbling down the twisting stairs that lead me down to the area Maurizio and others had called 'hell'. I heard briefly someone reciting their multiplication tables out loud, pausing then returning to it as I was taken down another corridor to a wall as Gygax left briefly, arriving again to push a torch near me and cause the wall to open.

I found myself shaking violently as I was brought into the hidden room, facing the Indian man from my dreams, his body covered in dark scar-tattoos that formed a hideous beast, his eyes white from age and perhaps misuse, his body thin and sinewy. As I had been able to tell when I met Holmes that he was a forceful personality, and later learned that the force would throw itself towards his views of morality and the law, this one I felt was a force, but for something dark and sinister, something that no human mind should be a force for. I found myself unable to speak at the man looked at where I had been dumped, my knees aching and my fear threatening to overwhelm me.

"So you have the Dreamer. Yet the old shikari has failed us, for the fate of our Great One hasn't changed, and this one is still strong, still believes in this world and does not see how he can help in the next."

I could almost hear Gygax's want for another person to experiment on as he asked my worth, stating I had not been ingesting the blue crystals now for a week and was also not dreaming anymore.

"He is still the Dreamer. He can still see what it is only I can…the coming of the One and his reign on Earth! He has even seen what I have not. He has seen R'lyeh, and I wish for him to show it to me! Show me the great palace of the Dreaming One, and show me our Master as he wakens!"

The old man grabbed me, the force and inhuman strength bringing me down towards the stones and blankets before me, when I heard Holmes' voice and warning.

I fought back, struggling to stay in even a bowing position, but refusing to allow my head to touch the ground before this perversion of a man. Twice I felt the clubs that Gygax's orderlies carried hitting me, but I put that out of my mind. Holmes had said for this to not happen, and I wouldn't let it.

Some part of my mind spoke up, stating that Holmes was dead and that was just a dream, an illusion of the mind itself. How could I justify listening to a dream?

I faltered, then pushed back harder. Even if it was a dream, an illusion, some form of insanity that made me believe Holmes was there when he wasn't, I never did go against what he suggested, even if it hurt me to do so. I had learned that even with his forceful personality, he never really asked me of anything I couldn't do, and if it hurt me he always apologized in his own way. Dead or alive, Holmes had become an immovable object in my life, and I would not disobey him, illusion or not.

Some other part, primordial and fearful, also spoke up, causing me to do all I could to fling myself away, even if it was only to be pulled back again as I fought with strength I didn't believe I had. If I gave in to them, if I joined them or gave up, then all would be destroyed in my mind and I'd be as mad as the man before me. If ever I was found, I would be beyond redemption, a rabid dog that could only be shot in order to save it.

The old man pushed me away in disgust, causing me to fall back hard against the stones as I tried to stand again, instead drug up by one of the others nearby who had watched the struggle.

"If you harm him, Gygax, then I will be displeased," I realized Gygax had suggested something and I struggled as my arm was held out and bared, a needle full of deep blue liquid appearing before me.

"NO!" I heard myself scream, "Please, stop!"

Despite this, the damned thing was once more in my system, and I was pressed forward again, and this time only asked to put my head to the ground.

I refused, my voice faint and sounding very much like that of a sad and disreputable child, to my surprise.

"You will do so, for our Great Lord."

"He is not great," I replied back, "and he is not my Lord. I will not bow to him."

I expected to be hit, but instead I was laughed at.

"You have seen R'lyeh! You have seen him waking! How is it you do not believe him to be the one that will destroy and recreate the world, that will herald in his brethren and eat the flesh off all those before us? Tell me what you have seen!"

I felt as if I was pushed to the side, as if some other part of me had taken over, and oddly I heard Holmes' voice together with my own. "I have seen a city that is rotting from salt water. I have seen a ruined place with a sleeping mountain of a god that is still sleeping, and who's only disturbance is you. I have seen nothing more then your own madness and inability to realize that all we have found will lead you to him, as well as seen that those who don't believe shall be the ones to find him first, and to put him to sleep. You and your cult will not succeed in it's goal."

I didn't hear what happened next, or what was said, as all the strength drained away and I fell into a deep sleep.

"_You've done quite well, John."_

_I turned as I saw my brother standing before me, holding the watch he'd sent to me years ago, which had given him money in times of need. I had lost it when I came here, and it was something I disliked when I thought about it._

_But John was…_

"_This isn't helpful, John, you being here or even listening to what the man said."_

"_Oh please!" a new voice broke in, Holmes walking over and snatching the watch away, "It's important he knows, but not that he trusts it! How else can he tell anyone of the goings on when they find him?"_

"_If, and that's probably never," my brother stole the watch back, "You shouldn't _be _here, John. You need to come with me. I've no doubt you'll pass the test, then we can travel together! Sail the seas, explore the ruins, meet the kings of far-away lands. We can travel and learn, to see the sights of a world only dreamed of, and you'll be free of this pain and madness!"_

_Holmes snarled, stealing the watch and moving towards me, "My dear Watson, you cannot mean to follow him into such a place!"_

"_What's he got left in the land of the waking, land of harshness and where he's being used anyway? If he leaves with me, he'll at least be free of it all, and live forever!"_

_Holmes still had the watch, though and finally held it up. "And what is time, really? A way we measure the inevitable, a way to tell when the next train is coming, a linear line that we all run along, oh you'll get to that world, I suppose, but leave me alone!"_

_My brother stormed up, angrily taking the watch back and hitting Holmes, hard enough to make him stumble backwards as I tried to stand but found that the chair, my chair from Baker Street, held me fast. "That's all you care about! You and your cases, you and your clients, you and your reputation! You've caused him enough hurt and pain just by being that had I known of you while I was alive I would've thrashed your hide!"_

_Holmes sat on the ground, his cheek bruising but waiting patiently. "Is that all? I told him my vices, he joined me in Baker Street. There was every chance to leave and yet he didn't. I ask, not demand, he join me on a case and he does. If I don't like his writing, it is because I happen to not like romanticism, that I feel it would be better written simple, with all the facts and little more. He's challenged me to write one down and I've yet to take him up because I bow to the superior mind on selling points. More people have taken up noticing things, taken up deduction, because of what he's written, and for that I'm proud." He looked over at me then said, "I should beg your forgiveness, my dear Watson, for it appears I have yet to give you a say in the matter."_

_My brother stormed forward and I found my voice, "Enough! Please…"_

_He looked at me, Holmes already watching me and now seated on the ground in a lotus-style, as I had seen him before when he was waiting to hear my opinion in Baker Street._

"_I cannot go with you," I told my brother._

"_Why not?" he asked, "won't it just be like before? I mean, you always followed me everywhere!"_

_I leaned back, sighing as I remembered. "I know I did. And sadly I regret most of it, for you were forever in trouble and I was always to blame. Before you say it, yes, I know all I ever do is follow Holmes as well, but he at least stops and sees if I'm alright. He doesn't let me get into trouble for it all, and for that I am quite grateful. I am sorry."_

_My brother looked at me, a mixture of anger and sadness, then tossed the watch to Holmes. "Fine. He's all yours, selfish bastards. I offer you immortality, and you chose someone who'll probably get you shot!"_

"_I don't mind," I said with a tone that was quite flat, "he at least will shoot the man back."_

_My brother disappeared, and Holmes smiled, tossing the watch away. "I never did think I needed that to speak, seemed a mere formality. Are you alright?"_

"_No."_

"_I thought as much. Sadly I cannot give you anymore of a hint now except to observe, or just see, whatever you need to. I cannot even say when I'll be there, for I most certainly do not know."_

_I glanced at him. "_Will _you be here?"_

"_As I said, I don't know. I do know who I am, how I would act if I was real, yet I am quite aware that I am not, and that this is all in your mind, not mine. I can hope that some part of you is within my original mind and has directed him as such. For now I'm simply a part of you, though I do know that if my original ever dies then I will at the same time, which is quite annoying."_

_I frowned. "You…you're _part _of Holmes?"_

"_I suppose I am."_

"_But…but…"_

"_I don't know how I got here. Indeed, this is quite irregular and more then a little frustrating, but I can always say it was part of the art in the blood that I somehow came to be here. I don't travel further then Baker Street, which seems my home as much as other parts of your mind are homes to others, and attempt to talk to some, though they are quite worrisome. Since you got to this place, though, more and more of them have clamored to be heard and had to go through me, but all of them run when they see that leviathan that haunts your dreams."_

"_You've seen it too?"_

"_Not clearly, but enough to know it is there, and it is foreign and ghastly, like a cancer. It seemed to cover that Indian man, and now I'm quite concerned." He paused, then asked, "What do you know of chakra points?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_Perhaps all the better. You should wake up now, Watson, I do believe if you don't they'll do something dreadful to you."_


	6. Chapter 6

I was returned to my cell after a quick, if too brief, visit to the infirmary which confirmed I had been in a coma for a fortnight following the events down below. I had lost too much weight, and Gygax seemed more then a little reluctant to restart me on the crystals since I had taken such a bad turn with them. A female nurse instead took up cooking me soups and bread, which I was quite grateful, but Gygax seemed more annoyed with the idea of allowing me upstairs. Still, my wellbeing was apparently more important, and he finally relented, though kept me under guard as much as possible.

The time there was bliss compared to earlier, as now I knew the time, could see the sun and moon, and was allowed a little more freedom during the day. I regained my health in almost half the time I'd been asleep to the world, and learned that I'd been there for nearly three months.

THREE! How could I have missed all of that? I had to guess that I was 'entered' into the grouping around the end of April or beginning of May, and to learn now it was nearly August…

Something about it seemed to excite me, though, as if knowing the date would help me realize how much time I actually had left. It was rather silly, as I knew Holmes possibly didn't know about my captivity and if Mycroft or his people hadn't found me yet, then perhaps Holmes wouldn't.

Still, I had to agree that at one point I was happy that I could be above the regular cells, and just as much planned my escape. I was healthier then when they brought me but not fully recovered enough that Gygax still got more then a few mean looks from the doting nurses who wished me to be a little healthier. They acted this way towards everyone so I didn't feel pampered, and most of it was due to the fact that I had yet to keep down anything stronger then half a bowl or less of stew and some bread, but only if soaked in said stew. Even attempts without the bread yielded the same results as bread without stew, and I wondered if it was simply a psychometric problem, that having been drugged through heavier foods, my mind now rebelled against the idea of it and asked my body to do the same. Sadly it complied, and I was hard-pressed to remind it that food was food.

Despite this, I still decided on a day of a dark moon to escape, and had actually made it out when I was caught, beaten for my troubles, and no more 'special treatment', as Gygax called it, was given to me. He tossed me back in my old cell, and Becker spoke to me almost instantly as I attempted to stop my lip from bleeding.

"I'm glad to see you too," I muttered, wincing as I lay back. A quick check had luckily showed that I had no internal injuries, but I would be aching for some time on my left side, where some of the more heavy-handed blows fell.

"You were gone a long time. I thought…"

"I was in the infirmary," I told him, pulling up some of my shirt to check the damage and wincing at what I saw. I needed to walk around my cell a bit, at least to try and get back some of my muscles, "but was foolish enough to attempt escape."

"What was it like, outside?" His voice was so full of pleading that I stopped my examination of the various bruises to describe it as well I could, apparently getting the attention of a few others and doing what I could to describe it to them without gaining notice from the orderlies, as well as without moving too much. It calmed them all somewhat, and I was happy to sleep without the screams of before.

For all the work done while in the infirmary, it was almost quickly undone by the ghastly dream I had, the fact that I was only fed solid food when I couldn't eat such, or at least keep it down. My dreams revolved more and more around the odd being that I had no name for, and feared greatly both waking and dreaming. Some odd knowledge let me know that I was seeing him still under water, and for that I was happy. If he rose above water and woke, I wouldn't wish to be nearby.

My dreams often started with something from a case I had worked with Holmes, the main feature almost always being the adventure I had titled "The Final Problem" and written as a retort to Moriarty's brother. I met him once and we did not get along well at all, not just because of the animosity between my friend and his brother, but simply because we didn't. I so hated reliving the feelings of panic and fear as I raced up the hill to find no Holmes, only the note, then to be transported to that cursed city and it's features created from some other world's nightmare and knowing that I was being watched, even as the thing slept on and dreamt…

More then once, I saw Mary as well, holding a bundle and covered in blood. She held it out to me, and it was a horrid statue of the beast I feared. I dropped it, and she disappeared, then the island appeared again. How I hated and feared the island and its lone inhabitant!

Yet always when I felt like I was drowning in sorrow, or fear, Holmes would appear, and we'd be in Baker Street again. I asked him once why I was trapped in my chair, and he replied it was because touching him would only prove he didn't exist, so my mind wished to stop me from doing so. Another time, my brother was there, arguing with Holmes about if I should be allowed to go down a long line of stairs, and despite more abuse from him, Holmes once more turned to me for the answer, and I once more denied my brother the company he seemed to desire, saying that Holmes needed me. Despite the curses flung at Holmes, I never saw my brother again after he descended those long steps, and Holmes said he was sorry for all I had to be put through. I admitted that it was hard, but I wished nothing more then to remain alive, so I could speak against Gygax and the others.

Then, one day, there was no dream, only the simple statement.

"_Watson, I'm here._"

* * *

-Lestrade-

"_I'll tell you nothin'_" goes only so far when locked up with a determined inspector and a grouping of loyal Yarders who wish to find their friend. Of course, it doesn't help if he's not sure _where _the asylum that his people, who were caught but without the good doctor, sent said doctor. Nor does it help that after four months of side-searching, of recruiting all those you can on their on duty and off-duty hours to search for him, exhaust almost all the possibilities, that you are assigned instead to go and interview some well-to-do man who used to be Watson's client and who lived near enough Baker Street it makes you wish Holmes was here.

I stopped at the thought and shake my head. No, if Holmes was here, Watson would be found by now, and I'd be slack-jawed and amazed, or something to the like. I miss the man, I will readily admit, and I want nothing more then one or both of them back. Some of the others, even the old timers, disliked Holmes and his 'uppity nature' on solving crimes, and I will admit that despite knowing to a degree what he's talking about, I miss things just as often as the next person. I don't take this as me being slow, though Holmes teases me as such. I have not the mind for noting ash or tire-tracks, but for what I can of a person.

Like Captain Stenwick. I knew his type rather well, and I spoke to Sergeant Rufles simply about the case, frowning as his assessment then saying, "Never mind. I'll go look at the area where he slept and possibly left from."

I wandered around to the back, noting that the lock wasn't forced but was also a rather pitiful lock. I frowned when I saw something off to the side and blinked as I looked.

Holmes' face was examining the area off to one side.

I blinked, blinked again and he was gone. I was took shaken and quickly made what I could of the area, frowning as I realized the boy was taken, and probably against his will, instead of left on his own. I returned, informed Stenwick that his servant was probably one of the many reported missing in London and stolen from their beds at night, then walked to 221 b. I was nearly there when I stopped, frowning at the door and letting out a sigh. Rubbish. Why should I go there? I would find no one but Mrs. Hudson, and she couldn't tell me where any of these things came from, or where they would be from.

I had to find some—

Fish scales, and flax that wasn't from England but from India, a small piece of rope that smelled of water but no salt…the fish scale, for all it's being away from the fish, was fresh…

Fresh fish only come to the docks.

I was about to hail a cab when one pulled up next to me and I was all but pushed inside and nearly fell over as they took off, starting to raise my voice when the person next to me put a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, do be quiet Lestrade. We have a good deal of work to do and far too little time to do it in!"

"HOLMES!"


End file.
